


Every Year Again

by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee)



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Community: tvd_holidays, Dubious Consent, Held Down, M/M, Mild Gore, Mindfuck, TVD Holidays Fest 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellensmithee/pseuds/Ellen%20Smithee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus "comforts" Stefan after a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Year Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TVD Holidays 2012! The title comes from a German Christmas carol, "Alle Jahre Wieder."

The fire is burning on the hearth, and the boardinghouse smells like popcorn and cookies and eggnog. Stefan is humming a Christmas carol as he trims the tree; it’s been years since he’s come home, but now he’s with his loved ones again and he can’t remember the last time he felt so… content.

“Don’t worry,” he says, shooting Elena a reassuring glance. “Damon should be home any minute. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees the tree.”

She says nothing from her perch on the couch, but her eyes are shining. She’s waited a long time to have both her boys together again, and at last that moment has come. The front door slams and Stefan waits for his brother to see him, barely able to contain his eagerness.

“Stefan.”

Damon’s voice is wary, but Stefan doesn’t cease his perusal of the tree, the ornament dangling from his finger. He can sense his brother behind him, not stirring from where he’s standing at the top of the stairs down to the living room ( _completely still, but Stefan hears that old floorboard creak under Damon’s weight; he’s never gotten it fixed and never will_ ). When Damon continues, his tone is strained and familiar, with a forced joviality. Stefan knows it’s Damon’s way of humoring him. Well, Stefan can play that game.

“When did you arrive? We weren’t expect—” 

Stefan can tell that Damon has noticed now, probably the scent of blood gave it away.

“Stefan,” he whispers, his footsteps approaching. “What have you done?”

Stefan finds the perfect place for the ornament and then turns to face his brother, a lopsided grin spreading over his face. Damon’s eyes widen and he doesn’t return the greeting; Stefan can hear his heart pounding fast with borrowed blood. Stefan glances over at the couch where Elena is sitting, dead still, her gaze fixed on the tree with a perplexed, vacant look that he’d once found oh, so adorable just as Damon reaches her, grabbing her shoulder a little more roughly than he normally would. He lets out a weird little squeak deep in his throat as her head rolls off, onto her lap, and Stefan chuckles.

“No need to lose your head, Elena,” he says. “I told you he’d—” 

He breaks off as Damon rushes him with a strangled cry and somehow there’s a tree branch in Stefan’s hand and then it’s _in Damon_ and _ohgodohgodogod_ , what _has_ he done?

A loud keening fills the room as Damon falls forward into his arms, grey already mottling his skin. As Stefan screams, the room starts to fade until all he can see is his brother’s face, his once vibrant eyes, now blank, the sight burned into Stefan’s mind forever. Then Damon is pulled away, and Stefan is alone.

“No…” Stefan cries, reaching for his brother. “Damon!”

Damon is gone, his arms are empty, but someone else’s are around him now, rocking him. 

“Shh, it’s all right, it’s all right, Stefan,” a familiar ( _hatedloved_ ) voice whispers in his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Stefan stiffens as the images fade and he finds himself in his own bed in the Klaus’s villa again. Safe and sound.

“It was a dream,” he whispers, his fingers digging into Klaus’s arms as he starts to calm. “Just a dream.”

Klaus hesitates, just long enough for Stefan’s heart to start racing again. 

“Of course,” he croons. “Just a dream.”

“Just a dream,” Stefan repeats. He hesitates and then he relaxes into Klaus’s heat, taking rare comfort from the other man’s presence. He’s almost drifting off to sleep again when he feels soft lips pressed against the back of his neck.

“What the—” Stefan tries to pull away, but Klaus’s arms are like iron bands around his middle, holding him until he stops struggling.

“Shh,” Klaus whispers. “You need this. You know you do. Let me help you.”

“No.” Stefan’s stomach churns. “Please, don’t. Don’t do this.”

They drink and laugh and carouse together; they prey and feed and kill together. Stefan would and does do everything his master bids him, no matter how depraved or vile. But they do not sleep together. They are not intimate ( _no matter how often Stefan might wonder what it would be like_ ).

But now Klaus’s lips are on his skin again and his hand is sliding down Stefan’s stomach to his cock, already hard and leaking, much to Stefan’s shame. Then Klaus’s fingers curl around it and Stefan whimpers, pushing into it Klaus’s fist.

“Submit to me, Stefan,” Klaus hisses into his ear, squeezing Stefan’s cock, but otherwise not moving his hand. “You know you want to.”

He bites down on Stefan’s earlobe and Stefan starts to panic as he feels the hybrid poison coursing through his veins. 

“No!” He tries to escape again, but Klaus’s other hand is suddenly on his throat like a vice, pressing and cutting off Stefan’s air ( _not that he needs it, but old instincts reign tonight_ ). Then Klaus is stroking and pulling his cock, his grip on Stefan’s throat growing ever tighter, and it is _exquisite_.

Stefan is just barely aware of Klaus’s prick pushing against his ass, nudging between the cheeks. He tenses, expecting an invasion, but Klaus’s erection slides down further along his crack, past the perineum until it is pressing against Stefan’s balls, and then Klaus starts to move.

Stefan is pushing into Klaus’s hand and then back against Klaus’s cock, while Klaus thrusts between his thighs, whispering Stefan’s name intermixed with what sounds like terms of endearment, but Stefan is beyond paying attention at this point. Need and shame and self-disgust consume him, but need wins out as he finds himself spiraling towards his orgasm, Klaus going rigid behind him as he finds his own release. Klaus falls limp against him, letting go of Stefan’s throat, and pressing his hand to Stefan’s lips, letting out a shaky sigh as Stefan sinks his fangs into soft part of his palm below his thumb.

Afterward, they lie silent, their bodies touching, but no further caresses between them. Stefan’s throat still hurts and he can taste Klaus’s blood on his tongue. He feels angry and violated, but too tired to fight it anymore. Not to mention, the feel and smell of Klaus against him is _familiar_ , like it’s happened many times before ( _even though he knows it hasn’t_ ), and that, in itself, is a comfort, too.

“Merry Christmas to me.” 

Stefan shivers, whether from the dark timbre of Klaus’s voice, sated and _gleeful_ , or the soft breath he puffs on the back of Stefan’s sweaty neck, he’s not sure.

“What?” Stefan asks.

“Nothing.” Klaus turns him in his arms until they’re facing each other. His sardonic smile fades as he presses his hand gently to Stefan’s cheek, gazing at him for a moment with something like regret and longing before the mask slips down over his eyes once more.

“Right,” he says. “Time to put my mad ripper back together.” He gently brushes Stefan’s hair out of his eyes, his fingers lingering on Stefan’s skin. “Every year again.” 

Before Stefan can ask what Klaus means (but, really, he _knows_ ), Klaus’s eyes are boring into his and Stefan can already feel the compulsion taking affect.

“Forget,” Klaus whispers.

And he does. Every year again.


End file.
